


Healing Hands

by MandalaRose



Series: Hot Gym Guys [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Body Positivity, Brief discussions of privacy and consent, But if you do at least make it artistic and shit, But no on-screen fat shaming occurs, Castiel Has a Crush, Chubby Castiel (Supernatural), Comfortably Bisexual Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester Has a Crush, Dean Winchester's First Time With a Man, Dean blushes a lot, Firefighter Dean Winchester, Fluff and Smut, Gay Castiel (Supernatural), Gratuitous use of inuendo, Gym Owner Castiel, Hand Kink, I tagged my first fic, M/M, Massage Therapist Castiel (Supernatural), Massage as Foreplay, Mention of Fat Shaming, Mild Dom/sub undertones, Misunderstandings, NO Gay Panic Though, Not the graffiti kind though, Praise Kink, Sassy Castiel, That makes me a little sad, The author has never taken a yoga class and it's probably obvious, The world's most inappropriate yoga class, Why isn't body positivity already a tag?, Yoga Instructor Castiel (Supernatural), don't do that, like a lot, look at that, mild pining, tagging is fun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-13
Updated: 2019-02-13
Packaged: 2019-10-27 12:39:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17766956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MandalaRose/pseuds/MandalaRose
Summary: “You’re right.  I’m a dick, but I’m not that kind of dick."Dean's had his eye on the hot, sex-haired owner of Healing Hands Spa & Gym for months now.  If sex-hair, stunning blue eyes, and hands that send Dean's thoughts nose-diving for the gutter (Dean's thoughts are considering buying a summer home there at this point) weren't enough, Castiel is also smart, funny, and sassy as hell.  Dean's crushing hard, but when Cas catches him sneaking his photo from across the gym and assumes the worst, will he lose any chance with the man before he even gets up the nerve to ask him out?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey Everyone! Thanks for reading my first fic!  
> I know I'm a skilled non-fiction writer, but this is my first attempt at fiction, so here's hoping I didn't screw up the dialogue sections too badly. It's unbeta'd and only edited by me, so all mistakes are mine (sorry!). I read through it a few times and I think I caught most of the typos and grievous grammatical errors. I also went over the smut with a fine tooth comb and I'm pretty sure I don't have anyone performing any impossible gymnastic feats or ending up with a third hand or anything.  
> If you like it, toss me a kudos or let me know in the comments. Your externally motivated author thrives on positive reinforcement.  
> If you hate it, well, you keep that shit to yourself. ;P  
> Happy reading!
> 
> An additional note: I've decided to add dedications to my fics, because why the hell not?  
> And so, this fic is dedicated to all the Hot Gym Guys out there. May your tank tops and t-shirts be always fitted, may you wear those athletic shorts that show off your ass even in December, and may you never skip leg day, forever and ever. Amen.  
> Except for you Dude Bro Asshole Gym Guys. This is not for you. You suck.

Dean’s been a member at Healing Hands Spa & Gym for four months and he’s been crushing on instructor and co-owner, Cas Novak, for just as long.  He’d met Cas at the beginning of his third visit.  Dean had been admiring the stubbled jaw of the guy manning the front desk and debating whether his dark hair was more, “just rolled out of bed,” or, “just had a quickie in the locker room,” when the man in question lifted his head and Dean lost himself in clear blue eyes.  Seriously, the guy’s eyes were the bluest eyes to ever blue (yeah, Dean knows how stupid that sounds, but fuck you, he’s not a poet). 

Dean had been skeptical when Sam had offered him a guest pass, good for five free visits, to the gym/spa combo, thinking it was going to be some girly, frou-frou place filled with scented candles, spin classes, and the bare minimum of half-assed weight lifting equipment (which is just bullshit, because Dean knows women buffer than he is who he’s not at all ashamed to say could totally kick his ass and look damn good doing it).  Healing Hands’ “mission,” was to help their guests, “achieve optimal physical, mental, and spiritual health in a safe, supportive, and friendly environment.” Dean had been a loyal member at Singer’s Gym across town for years (where the closest thing they had to a mission statement was that time Bobby told Dean, “Fat, drunk, and stupid ain’t no way to go through life.”  He’s pretty sure it was said with love.), but Bobby Singer was finally retiring and had sold the small gym to the lithe and beautiful Gilda, who had plans to turn it into a dance studio.   In need of a new gym and refusing to go to the chain place that had been slowly leeching away Bobby’s client base over the years, he hadn’t been able to come up with a good enough excuse to turn down Sam’s proffered guest pass and bitch face accompanied assurances of, “Trust me Dean.  It’s not like you’re thinking.” 

Healing Hands definitely offered an impressive assortment of spin classes (along with yoga, pilates, and others), and Dean thought he’d spied some candles when he’d peeked into the massage rooms on the spa side of the building, but the overall aesthetic was clean, warm, and surprisingly gender neutral.  The gym side had olive walls and a faux-wood floor in a warm, honey oak finish.  Instead of the usual harsh fluorescent lighting, LED bulbs cast the gym in a warm white glow.  Glass doors led from the building’s central entryway into the gym, which occupied the entire left side of the building.  To the left of the glass doors, the exterior wall along the front of the gym featured exposed brick and black steel-framed widows that stretched the length of the wall.  The natural light from the windows and the more industrial feel of the brick and steel balanced the soft lighting and wood-toned floors.  The brick-and-window clad wall was lined with elliptical machines, treadmills, and stationary bikes.  Soft gray mats lined the far wall opposite the gym doors, protecting the floor from the heavy equipment in the (impressively furnished) weight training area.  Doors on either end of the wall led to the spin room. The back wall was lined with a long mirror in front of more mats, where instructors led the yoga, pilates, and aerobics classes.  Free standing shelving along the right-hand side of the mats held any number of neatly rolled yoga mats and exercise balls and led back to the glass doors and the entryway beyond. 

Light oak paneling lined the wall behind the front desk, which stood in the center of the building and divided the gym side on the left from the spa side to the right.  The locker rooms were located behind the front desk area and could be easily accessed from either side, via curving hallways.  The olive-and-oak color scheme carried over into the spa side, but the lighting there was dimmer and set into recessed ceiling fixtures.  Carpeted steps led up from the building’s entry way to a central area with the same faux-wood flooring as the gym.  A wide hallway extended down the length of the spa, leading to an open area with built-in wood shelving that held clean, fluffy white towels.  Doorways that led to the spa’s two saunas stood on either side of the towels.  The left side of the long hallway was lined with doors that led to a number of small, private massage rooms, while a broad set of glass doors on the right opened into a large, bright room featuring the same windows found in the front wall of the gym, with soft cream-colored paneling replacing the utilitarian brick.  The glass doors made the space feel large and open, while shutting out the noise of the gym.  Soft gray arm chairs lined the wall in front of the windows, each with its own foot bath.  Here, guests could be pampered with foot massages, skin treatments, and facials, not that Dean _would_ of course.  He had to admit though, the foot massage might be nice. 

All said, Dean had been grudgingly impressed with the facilities and services offered at Healing Hands (not that he would EVER tell Sam that), but those aspects paled in comparison to how impressed Dean was with the gym’s co-owner. 

“Good afternoon.  I’m Castiel Novak: yoga instructor, massage therapist, and co-owner here at Healing Hands,” said Sex-hair (Dean decided the dude’s hair definitely looked more like it’d had eager hands pulling it every which way than the lopsided, smushed-to-one-side look that was the standard for bedhead), as he extended his hand to Dean across the desk. 

“Dean Winchester,” he replied as he shook the offered hand, “Nice to meet ya Cas.  My brother is Sam Winchester.  I’m here on his guest pass.” 

Dean glanced down at the strong, tanned hand with long, dexterous fingers surrounding his own and swallowed.  Cas’ hand was smooth and his grip was firm, but he wasn’t trying to out-muscle Dean, the way some men did when they shook his hand.  He radiated confidence and strength, and his smile widened as he replied, “Hello Dean,” in a deep, earthen voice that settled into Dean’s skin like its own kind of massage. 

_Cas said he’s a massage therapist_. 

The thought came unbidden and for a moment, Dean pictured those strong hands working oil into his shoulders in smooth circles, his thumbs digging into knotted muscles.  Cas’ grip would be as firm as his handshake as he pressed slow, deep strokes down Dean’s back again and again, each time moving lower and lower, until..  Dean started and fought a blush as Cas continued to talk, thankfully unaware of Dean’s wandering mind. 

“Welcome.  Sam is a loyal patron and valued guest.  Whether or not you decide to join us on a more permanent basis, we’re glad to have you here.  I hope you enjoy your visit.”

Even though he still had 2 more free visits on his guest pass, Dean signed his membership agreement that day.  It was for the excellent range of services and top-of the-line equipment, he insisted to himself, and had absolutely nothing to with sex hair, blue eyes, or god-like hands.

***

Dean finishes another set on the overhead press, then pauses to drink some water and covertly ogle his favorite yoga instructor/co-owner/goddamn fucking massage therapist.  He’s abandoned all pretense about what had drawn him to this particular gym (to himself, at least), and if his workout schedule just happens to align with Cas’ yoga schedule, nobody has to know that but him.  Dean would have been a little worried that Cas might notice the convergence in their schedules if he thought the gorgeous yoga instructor noticed him at all.  Sure, they chatted occasionally when Cas was working the front desk and Dean had learned that the handsome man had a sharp mind and dry, sarcastic sense of humor, his joking barbs only belied by a subtle smirk and sharp glint in his eye that did very warm, very wiggly things to Dean’s insides.  Outside of those random encounters however, Cas stayed on his side of the gym, teaching yoga classes or occasionally warming up with a jog (heaven help Dean) on one of the treadmills, while Dean drooled over him forlornly from the familiar safety of the various weight training machines. 

Today, Cas is wearing loose fitting black yoga shorts that stretch over his thighs and show off his thick calves under a fitted heather gray t-shirt that clings to his broad shoulders and the soft, rounded curve of his stomach.  Cas’ body isn’t the sculpted physique one might expect of someone who owns and spends most of his time in a gym.  He is, for lack of a better word, chubby, but that doesn’t detract from his attractiveness in the slightest, at least not as far as Dean’s concerned.  Dean has spent a good part of the past four months watching the man mold his body into complex and sometimes baffling yoga stances, holding even the most difficult poses for minutes at a time with ease.  He’s seen the grace and flexibility in those limbs and the muscles flexing and moving underneath that misleading softness.  Cas might be soft, but he’s strong too.  Dean thinks that might be what his own body would look like if the demands of his job with the Lawrence Fire Department didn’t necessitate his current exercise regimen (okay, maybe Dean’s workouts are a little more frequent than strictly necessary these days), leading to his more muscular build.

Dean has dated women with a variety of appearances and body types.  Thin or thick, slender or curvy, athletic or hates-the-gym-with-the-fire-of-a-thousand-burning suns, it doesn’t matter to Dean.  Bodies are beautiful and a woman’s size doesn’t dictate her level of attractiveness; nor apparently, does a man’s.  Dean had realized he was attracted to both genders back in high school, but until recently, the only other person who knew was his best friend Charlie.  Aside from making out with Aaron Bass in the dugout after baseball practice junior year, Dean has virtually no experience with men.  Cas is the first guy that Dean’s actually wanted to ask out since coming out to his friends and family a year and half ago, but after months of lusting after the man, he still has no idea how to go about it.  It isn’t even as if he doesn’t know if Cas likes guys.  During his second month at the gym he’d overheard one of Cas’ co-owners trying to talk him into going with her to see a Western-themed strip show at a local bar. 

“C’mon Clarence,” she’d said, “I happen to know it’s been _ages_ since you’ve gotten any.  Time to save a horse and ride a cowboy!”

 Cas had blushed when he’d noticed Dean standing in earshot and Dean, overwhelmed in the best possible way, had ducked his head and hurried inside the gym before Cas had a chance to see his answering blush.  No, he knows Cas likes guys.  What he doesn’t know, is if Cas likes _Dean._

Shaking his head at his newly resurrected teenage angst, Dean watches dreamily as Cas moves between his yoga students, pausing at various mats to correct positioning or offer encouraging words.  Dean is actually considering moving over to one of the treadmills to get a better view, even though he fucking _hates_ cardio (why run when nothing’s chasing him?), as he watches Cas place his hands lightly on a woman’s waist, gently turning her hips more fully into the pose.  Dean imagines those same hands resting on his own hips, guiding his body against Cas’ as the man moves behind him, thrusting into Dean with bold, firm strokes, each thrust coming faster and harder.

“Thinking about taking up yoga?” asks a bright, amused voice behind him, startling him out of his fantasy (and not a moment too soon either.. there is no way these sweatpants would do anything to hide a boner).  Dean jumps and looks around to see Lisa, another yoga instructor at the gym and his ex. 

“I don’t remember you being this interested in yoga when _we_ dated,” Lisa says, voice innocent but teasing smile widening as Dean reddens and rubs the back of his neck, “thinking of taking a class?” 

Dean actually had considered taking one of Cas’ beginners’ yoga classes, but flexible Dean is not, and the last thing he wants to do is make a fool of himself in front of the maddeningly attractive instructor.  He’d also thought about booking a massage with Cas (of course he had), but there was absolutely no way Dean could have those strong, masculine hands caressing any part of his body without popping a boner, so he quickly dismissed the idea (for everyone’s sake) and avoided the spa side of Heavenly Hands altogether.

Dean and Lisa had dated for a few months about a year ago and she was the only woman Dean had dated who knew he swung both ways.  It had never been an issue in their relationship however.  Dean and Lisa had become close friends while they dated and they had great physical chemistry, but eventually they both realized that they wanted more and weren’t going to find it with one another.  They had parted on good terms, but hadn’t seen much of one another since.

“Hey Lis,” Dean answers sheepishly, “how’s Ben?” 

Lisa smirks, but lets Dean change the subject to her 8-year-old son.  After catching up briefly about Lisa’s life with Ben and Dean’s life at the station, Lisa looks up as Cas begins to lead his class through their cool down.  “I’d better get going.  I’m teaching the next class.  Enjoy the cool down Dean!”  Lisa smirks and bounces away. 

Dean sighs and pulls out his phone, shooting a quick text to Charlie.

_I’m pathetic._

Her response is immediate.  _So how IS Hot Gym Guy today?_

_Perfect. Like always._

_So you say.  He can’t be that perfect.  Pictures or it didn’t happen, Handmaiden._

Dean looks around.  No one’s paying any attention to him and Cas is still across the gym, currently bent over while coaching a student through one of the last yoga poses of the evening.  Distracted, Dean spends a moment fixated on Cas’ perfectly round ass filling out those yoga shorts, then shakes himself and surreptitiously raises his phone, opening up the camera app.  With a strength of will that honestly surprises him, Dean waits until Cas stands and turns to the side, then quickly snaps a photo of the man’s profile and sends it to Charlie.

_As you wish, my queen._

Absorbed in his conversation with Charlie, Dean doesn’t notice Cas walking across the gym towards him until a low, gravelly, and clearly annoyed voice says, right above him, “I hope you got my good side.”

***


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains a brief discussion (okay, lecture) about the topics of privacy, consent, and objectification. The views of the characters are not necessarily the views of the author. While I think all points made are valid, there are other considerations at play here and, basically, Castiel is being a bit of a hypocritical dick. Don't worry. He fixes it eventually.

Castiel takes in his gym with a small smile as he leads his last class of the day in a few simple warm-up poses.  He’s proud of this place he’s built with his two best friends; proud of what they’ve accomplished.  He’d met Meg and Pamela in one of their mutual business classes sophomore year of college and they’d bonded over a shared love of sarcasm, near-lethal amounts of coffee, and the cheese fries at the 24-hour truck stop just outside of town.  The idea for their gym/spa had first sparked after Pam had convinced the other two to join the yoga class she taught at a local gym.  Meg had been ambivalent, but Cas had taken to yoga immediately.  He loved the peace and tranquility that yoga brought to his sometimes-anxious mind.  He loved how sure and strong his body felt as he flowed from one graceful pose to the next.  Pam had told them that she loved how yoga united the body and the mind.  It was impossible to reach your highest level of mental health while your physical health suffered, and vice versa, she told them.  She also said she planned to obtain certification as a massage therapist as well, in order to further her goal of caring for both people’s minds and bodies.  Meg had commented that it was too bad there weren’t a lot of places designed to help people improve _all_ facets of their health, to help them not only tone their bodies or strengthen their minds, but to be whole, healthy people all the way around.  The three of them had looked at one another over their midnight cheese fries and the idea for Healing Hands was born. 

The plan for Healing Hands had grown and taken shape over the course of their remaining three years in undergrad.  On top of their business coursework, Castiel joined Pamela in pursuing certification as a yoga instructor and massage therapist.  Meg began teaching aerobics and spin classes at Pam’s gym while working on her certification to become a personal trainer.  By the time they graduated, they had a clear vision for their business, but it wasn’t until Pamela’s grandmother offered to front them a sizeable amount of start-up money that they were really able to bring life to their dream. 

The hours were long and some days he was so exhausted he couldn’t see straight, but two years in and Cas couldn’t be happier.  Well, he might be just a _little_ bit happier now, he thinks, as his eyes find his favorite guest doing chest presses on the other side of the gym.  Dean Winchester:  gorgeous firefighter, loving older brother, and the star of nearly all of Castiel’s masturbatory fantasies for the past four months, sits flush against the machine’s backrest, widely spread knees and planted feet giving him a solid base of support as muscled forearms bring the bars on each side of the machine forward and back.  Cas watches appreciatively as the muscles in Dean’s broad chest pull beneath his navy blue fire department t-shirt.  He wonders if Dean works out every day of the week, or if his gym day schedule somehow happens to match Castiel’s, as the man always seems to be there during at least one of Cas’ yoga classes.  Either way, Cas isn’t complaining.  Even if he can never seem to find a reason to cross the gym and talk to Dean that _doesn’t_ sound like a lecherous gym owner creeping on his customers, he certainly enjoys the eye candy.  The only real conversations they’ve had are stolen snippets when Castiel manages to find himself working the front desk when Dean comes in for his workout (which he “manages” to do with considerable frequency, since Dean’s schedule is so similar to his own).

Castiel watches as Lisa, Healing Hands’ other yoga instructor, approaches Dean across the gym and engages him in conversation.  Hit with a sudden and unexpected pang of jealousy (he’s denied himself the pleasure of Dean’s company on his gym floor for months, and now Lisa walks over like they’re old friends?), Castiel admonishes himself.  Lisa is an outstanding yoga instructor and a lovely person.  She’s kind to everyone she meets and is an excellent mother to her young son, Ben.  Castiel will **not** harbor any ill feelings toward her.  It doesn’t matter _what_ Lisa’s saying to Dean, or if she likes him, or even if _Dean_ likes _her_.  Dean is off-limits.  He’s a guest, a gym member, and Castiel is the owner of said gym.  Even if Meg and Pamela think he should “go for it,” it’s never a good idea to mix business and pleasure.  Besides, he doesn’t even know if Dean’s attracted to men.  The uncomfortable way he reacted when he overheard Meg teasing Castiel about that Chaps in Chaps show would indicate not.  Castiel had been mortified when he’d realized Dean had overheard their conversation, particularly since he had been about reply to Meg’s teasing barb about riding a cowboy by reminding her that it wasn’t a cowboy’s hat he wanted to see hanging from his bedpost, but a _fireman’s._

Castiel turns back to his class and begins leading them through the cool down poses, resolutely refusing to glance in Dean’s direction.  His resolve lasts until he’s guiding a guest through the very last pose.  As he straightens, Castiel subtly turns to the side, so that can catch Dean in his peripheral vision.. and sees him leaning forward on the seat of the chest press machine, his phone held up in front of him.  Dean is unmistakably taking a photograph.. of Castiel.  Immediately incensed, Castiel can think of only one reason the attractive firefighter with the carved marble physique would be taking _his_ picture.  He’s seen other people with bodies that don’t match the ideal (and ridiculous) standard for athleticism in this country mocked cruelly on the internet for daring to go to the gym, run a 5k, or play a sport. He’s certain that he’s about to become the butt of some cyber bullying social media prank. 

Some people just can’t understand how Castiel, with his soft belly and jiggly arms, can be an effective and talented yoga instructor.  It’s like they think he doesn’t _deserve_ to be a competent instructor or proficient yogi, just because his body doesn’t fit their preconceived notions about what someone who’s good at yoga looks like.  It’s absurd and toxic, and Castiel has become mostly immune to it, but he had thought Dean better than that.  During their brief conversations, Dean had seemed so friendly and genuine.  He never asked the insensitive and disbelieving questions favored by most of the prejudiced idiots who walked into his gym.  _You’re_ a yoga instructor?  What made _you_ decide to open a gym?  Do you actually _like_ working out?  Most of the questions seemed innocent enough, but when asked the wrong way, in the wrong tone of voice, they became something ugly and hateful.  Castiel is proud of his body and the things it can do, but no matter how much he loves himself, the world is full of people who seem to insist upon trying to make him feel ashamed for it. It stings to realize that Dean is one of those people, and that Castiel misjudged the man so. 

More than he is angry for himself though, Castiel is angry for his customers, his guests.  What if Dean had been photographing one of them for his cruel prank instead?  He, Meg, and Pam have worked hard to create a space that is safe and welcoming to guests of all ethnicities, orientations, genders, and appearances.  They have a **very** strict, zero tolerance harassment policy, but fortunately they’ve rarely needed to enforce it. Most of the ignorant meatheads that might be tempted to violate the policy were scared off by the impressive list of spa services on the front page of the membership agreement, as if the scent of their aromatherapy candles might somehow stealth-waft over from the spa and dilute their toxic masculinity as they grunted like sweaty animals while trying to bench press 50lb more than their muscles could safely tolerate.

 _Dean_ was one the meatheads.  Castiel felt so.. _disappointed_ in the man (and more than a little disappointed _for_ himself, he admits wryly).  Sure, Dean played the cocky firefighter, all suave smiles and secretive winks when he was talking to anyone but Castiel, but during their interactions he could have sworn he sensed an underlying depth in Dean.  A sweet water spring bubbling underneath a rocky (but admittedly attractive) surface.  Castiel hadn’t minded the flirting and the winks.  They’d made his pulse race a bit faster even if they weren’t directed at him and the way they fell away when he and Dean were discussing movies (“Dean, Die Hard is _not_ a Christmas movie.”), music (“Cas, how can you _not like_ Led Zeppelin?  That’s like not liking pie!  Oh my God, do you _not like pie?_ ”), or his brother Sam’s latest accomplishment (“Kid’s studying to be a lawyer.  Have I told you that?”), made Castiel feel like their encounters were something special, like at the very least they might be becoming friends. 

 _Stupid,_ Castiel chides himself harshly.  _You saw what you wanted to see and now you know better._ Squaring his shoulders, he starts across the gym toward Dean.  Dean is still looking down at his phone when Castiel reaches him, probably trying to come up with the perfect witty insult to post with Castiel’s photo. 

“I hope you got my good side,” Castiel says acidly, injecting the words with as much sarcasm and venom as he can manage.  When Dean’s head jerks up and his green eyes lock on Castiel, his normally ruddy cheeks pale dramatically. 

“Cas,” he manages in a dry squeak, but words seem to fail him after that.  Dean looks guilty and ashamed.  _And well he should_ , thinks Castiel bitterly. 

“If you’re looking for the best insult to post with my photo, you need only ask,” he continues, shooting for cold and aloof, but landing on barely-restrained-fury, “I’ve heard them all.”  Dean’s mouth drops open, but Cas pushes on ruthlessly, “I should warn you though, this establishment has a zero tolerance harassment policy.  If I find out you’ve shared a picture of any employee or guest anywhere on the internet without their explicit consent, your membership will be revoked and you will be banned from the premises.” 

Dean’s eyes widen and he appears to have finally found his voice, leaping to his feet as he beseeches, “What?  No!  Cas, you’ve got me all wrong!”

“Are you saying you _weren’t_ taking my photograph a few minutes ago?” Cas asks disbelievingly, giving a pointed look to the cell phone still gripped tightly in Dean’s hand. 

Dean sighs, “No.  I mean, I was, so you don’t have me _all_ wrong.” 

Cas opens his mouth to cut in, but Dean rushes on desperately, “But it’s not like you’re thinking!  I swear!” 

Arms crossed tightly against his chest, Cas rolls his eyes, his entire head rolling with the motion.  Dean appears to take a moment to consider, then swallows heavily and pulls up a text conversation on his phone before holding it out to Castiel, a look of grim resignation on his face. 

“Here, look for yourself.”

“Please,” he adds softly when Castiel hesitates. 

As Castiel relents and takes the phone, Dean sighs in apparent relief and scrubs his right hand over his face.  He leaves his hand covering his mouth as if he’s worried about what might come out of it, then wraps his left arm across his midsection, using that hand to support his right elbow.  He’s half-hugging himself in this position, hunched over protectively, and it makes the larger-than-life man look somehow smaller and more vulnerable.  It’s that more than anything that leads Castiel to look down at the phone in his hand and begin reading Dean’s text conversation with someone dubbed, “Queen of Moons.”

“S’my best friend, Charlie,” Dean murmurs from beneath his hand, his face reddening in a blush that’s become increasingly familiar to Castiel in recent months, but today fails to invoke its usual warmth in his chest.  Cas ignores Dean and keeps reading, his eyes widening slightly at “Hot Gym Guy.”  Huh.  Apparently, Dean had taken the photograph not to mock Castiel, but because he found him attractive.  _Dean finds him attractive._ Still though, the picture was taken _and_ shared with someone else, without Castiel’s consent.  He can’t let Dean think that’s acceptable behavior. 

He looks up at Dean, his voice drained of it’s earlier anger, but still laced heavily with his disappointment when he says, “You have to know that regardless of your motivation for taking the photograph, it’s still not okay to take someone’s picture without their consent.  It’s invasive and violating.  This is supposed to be a place where people feel safe and comfortable.  That can’t happen if they have to worry about being objectified by other guests.”

Dean’s face reddens further at the word, “objectified,” but he takes a breath and responds.

“Yeah, I know.  I get that.  I really do,” he stresses at Castiel’s flat look.  “You’re completely right.  No matter how innocent I may have thought my intentions were, it was still wrong to take your picture.  You have every right to hate me and I know it doesn’t fix anything, but I’m really fucking sorry.  The last thing I wanted to do was make you feel.. violated,” Dean nearly chokes on the word. 

“You’re right.  I’m a dick, but I’m not _that_ kind of dick.  I just wanted you to know that.” 

Looking defeated, Dean reaches for his phone, but Castiel pulls back slightly.  He hasn’t finished reading the conversation.  He glances between Dean and the phone.  Dean drops his head, gives a half shrug and makes a faint “may as well” gesture with his hand.  The color in his cheeks deepens still further and Castiel wonders idly just how red a person can get before it becomes medically concerning.  He looks back to the phone and continues to read.

**Dean:** _It’s not a great picture._

_I mean, you can kinda get an idea of the sex hair, but you can’t see his gorgeous blue eyes._

_Or his hands.  Fuck Charles, those hands._

**Queen of Moons:** _Easy there Winchester.  Spare me all the gross deets.  I already know WAY more            about your hand fetish than I ever needed to._

 

Castiel breezes over the comments about his hair and eyes (he’s heard similar before), but arches an eyebrow when he gets to Charlie’s “hand fetish” comment.  Dean, reading over his shoulder and realizing where he is in the conversation, goes crimson. 

 _How many shades of red are there anyway?_ Cas wonders, amused in spite of himself.  As his eyes drift to where Dean’s chest and shoulders are covered by the blue fabric of his t-shirt, Castiel also finds himself wondering just how far down that blush extends.  He suppresses a smirk as he returns to the conversation.

**Dean:** _It’s not just that though Charles.  He’s also smart, funny, and just so fucking NICE._

_He’s always talking to people.  Encouraging them to make it through the next mile or the next set, congratulating them when they get a tough yoga pose right no matter how many tries it took, or telling people he’s glad they’re here like he really fucking means it._

**Queen of Moons:** _Wow.  You really like this guy huh?_

**Dean:** _Uh, yeah?  For MONTHS now Charlie._

**Queen of Moons:** _Aww.  Deanie Beanie has a crush!  So woman up and ASK HIM OUT ALREADY! What’s the problem?_

**Dean:** _I’ve never asked a guy out before Charlie!  I don’t know how to DO this!!_

**Queen of Moons:** _And I do??  If you’re looking for tips on how to pick up guys Deano, you’re gay-for-girls bestie probably shouldn’t be your go-to._

 

The last of Castiel’s anger fades.  Dean’s not just attracted to him.  Dean _likes_ him.  _Dean_ likes _him._   And sure, Dean had made a mess of it.  What he’d done was wrong, but he appeared to understand that and he’d apologized.  More, he’d seemed truly repentant.  If Castiel had felt _disappointed_ in Dean’s behavior, Dean had looked absolutely _devastated_ in the face of that disappointment.  And Castiel wasn’t actually innocent either.  Maybe he hadn’t taken Dean’s picture, but he’d been staring at the man’s Adonis-like physique for months.  Accusing Dean of objectifying him had been hypocritical at best. 

Seeing that he was finished reading and mistaking Castiel’s silence for something negative, Dean hangs his head and speaks, “Look, you don’t need to revoke my membership or anything.  I’ll find somewhere else to workout.  I promise.  I won’t bother you.. or anyone else here.  I never meant to objectify you or make you feel uncomfortable.  I really am sorry.” He trails off, his still heated face a mask of misery.

Castiel should stop this now.  He should really put Dean out of his misery.  After all, Dean’s not the only one harboring a crush and Castiel has no intention of letting the man leave his gym.  Especially not now that he knows there really is more to Dean than the cocky firefighter mask he likes to wear.  Dean is in fact capable of being sincere, humble, and sweet.  This softer side of the firefighter tugs at Castiel’s heart and he finds himself wanting to wrap Dean up in his arms.  All of his earlier strictures about not mixing business with pleasure have fled in the face of the fact that _Dean likes him._ So really, he should let Dean know.  Tell him he forgives him, maybe ask him out to dinner or a movie. 

On the other hand, Dean is ADORABLE when flustered and Castiel has never claimed to be a good person.  So instead, keeping his face carefully neutral, he hands Dean’s phone back and says, “Have you ever considered taking yoga Dean?  I’ve noticed you always seem to be here during my evening class.” 

If Dean’s face was crimson before, it’s burgundy now. 

 _Interesting_.  He’d always thought Dean’s schedule coinciding with his own a happy coincidence, but now he suspects it was by design.  This time, Castiel doesn’t hold back his small smirk. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow Dean.  6 o’clock.  Dress comfortably.”  Then he turns and walks away.

***

 _Shit._ Cas had been _pissed._   Dean heads for the locker room on wobbly legs.  Grabbing his bag from his locker, he heads for the door. He’ll shower at home.  Right now, he needs to get out of here so he can figure out what the _hell_ just happened.  Cas had been furious when he first stormed over to Dean (and rightfully so).  He’d calmed down a little bit when Dean gave him his phone and proved that he was only your usual run-of-the-mill pervert and not some sadistic internet troll ( _Christ._ What had he been thinking, taking that photo?), but he’d still been visibly upset.  And then.. one minute the man was all righteous indignation and smitey eyes (Cas had a habit of looking at people with a focused weight that Dean found all manner of hot, but those same intense blue eyes narrowed in cold fury was nothing short of terrifying.. and also, all manner of hot) and the next, he was inviting, no _ordering_ , Dean to come to his yoga class.  But _why_?  What is Cas’ end game here?  Is he planning his own cruel trick for tomorrow, in retaliation for Dean’s asshole-stalker behavior?  Is he just hoping Dean will humiliate himself in the class?  Will he pick apart Dean’s yoga performance, proving that he’s better than the heavily muscled firefighter?  If that’s the case, the theatrics aren’t needed.  Dean will readily admit that Cas is far better than him, and not just at yoga. 

Despite his fears to the contrary, Dean doesn’t really think that’s it.  Intentionally humiliating someone like that, even someone who probably deserves that and more, just doesn’t seem like Cas’ style.  Dean has spent the past four months watching the man (asshole-stalker, yep) and though Cas is sarcastic and opinionated (and fucking _fierce_ when provoked, as Dean now knows), at his core Cas is _kind._   His entire career, hell his entire _life_ with as much time as he spends at Healing Hands, is focused on helping people:  strengthening them, encouraging them, building them up.  He just can’t see Cas tearing someone down.  Even when he had been at his most furious with Dean, he hadn’t lashed out with cruel words or cheap shots, and he could have.  Dean knows the man speaks sarcasm like it’s his native language and he has a razor-sharp tongue that Dean’s only ever known him to use in jest.  Even his comments about Dean objectifying him and how his behavior had been, “invasive and violating,” weren’t said in cruelty, but in explanation, like Cas hadn’t wanted Dean to be punished for his behavior, but to understand _why_ it was wrong, presumably so he might learn from it.  And that was really the heart of the matter, wasn’t it?  That’s what really left Dean feeling gutted about the entire situation. 

As angry as he had been, Cas had been even more _disappointed_ in Dean, like he had expected better and Dean had let him down.  That’s why Dean had handed Cas his phone in the first place.  Revealing his hopeless crush to Cas would be embarrassing, but Dean would have done _anything_ to lessen that look of disappointment.  Dean’s no stranger to letting people down, but he doesn’t really get the chance to anymore.  With the exception of Sam and Charlie, there isn’t really anyone who _expects_ anything of Dean beyond the charming but shallow, hunky firefighter.. and Dean obliges.  But Cas, Cas makes him feel like he’s something _more._

Dean pulls into the parking lot of his apartment building and carries his gym bag upstairs.  Unlocking his apartment door, he grabs a beer out of the fridge on his way to his shabby, but tidy, living room.  Tossing his gym bag on the secondhand couch, Dean sinks down next to it, exhaling heavily and dragging a tired hand down his face.  Tipping back his beer, he continues his earlier train of thought.  If Cas’ plan isn’t retribution, what’s left?  Is this his way of accepting Dean’s apology?  Does he just want Dean to know he’s still welcome at the gym?  Or does he just honestly think the yoga class would benefit Dean?  Yeah, that sounds like a Cas kind of thing.  Finding balance, learning respect, self-discipline (or wait, that’s martial arts isn’t it?).. all that jazz.  Cas is all about building both a healthy mind and body and from previous conversations, Dean knows that yoga is his way of unifying the two.  Dean’s pretty sure the only thing his mind and body are going to be unified in tomorrow is embarrassment (and maybe pain, some of those poses look downright dangerous), but not attending the class is out of the question.  At the very least, he can show Cas that he respects him as an instructor and an athlete (yogi?).. you know, when he’s not “objectifying” him.  _Fuck._

Dean’s phone buzzes on the coffee table with a message from Charlie.  He picks it up to see five unread messages from her, but doesn’t respond.  He’s sulking (brooding, he would have insisted to Sam) and he’s not in the mood to be cheered up by his best friend.  A minute later, the phone buzzes again, this time with an incoming call.  Dean groans.  He knows Charlie well enough to know that if he doesn’t answer, she’ll just keep calling.  After more than 3 missed calls, she’s liable to show up at his apartment, no matter the time of day or night.  Dean answers the phone on a sigh. 

“Hey Charles,” he greets. 

“Dean,” Charlie chirps, sounding surprised he’d picked up.  “You went radio silent on me there for a while, what happened?”  Dean relays the whole reeking mess to Charlie as he heats himself a frozen pizza for dinner.  Hey, if he’s gonna sulk, he’s gonna do it right.  He wonders if he has any ice cream in the freezer.

“Shit, Dean, I’m sorry,” Charlie says sympathetically.  “I never would have asked you for a pic if I’d thought you’d get busted like that.  Although, in my defense, you weren’t supposed to _get caught_! You clearly have zero stealth factor, dude!” 

 _So much for sympathy_ , Dean thinks wryly. 

He’s about to respond to _that_ , when Charlie forges ahead, “So what’s the deal with him volunteering you for his yoga class anyway?”  Dean tells her his original humiliate-the-asshole-stalker theory, which Charlie rejects as quickly as he did. 

“That’s like, an overly complicated super villain plot Dean.  Pretty sure normal people don’t do that.  Not that I have a solid grasp on what qualifies as ‘normal’ mind you.”  Dean agrees and shares his back-up, forgive-Dean-and-make-him-less-of-an-asshole-through-the-healing-powers-of-yoga theory, which Charlie acknowledges isn’t an impossibility.  However, she offers a third theory. 

“Or,” she begins, “and stay with me here, maybe, just maybe, he _likes you back._ ”

“What?  Why?”  Dean’s flabbergasted.  As much as he’s thought about it, wished for it, fucking day dreamed of it, the possibility that Cas might like Dean as much as Dean likes Cas has never really occurred to him. 

It’s then that Dean registers Charlies sudden silence.  _Uh oh._ He can almost _see_ her taking deep breaths and counting on the other side of the phone.  Pint-sized Charlie has a ferocity that matches anything Cas put out today when she’s upset and she _hates_ when Dean “undervalues” himself. 

Finally, Charlie sighs, “Dean, it’s a good thing you’re pretty, but don’t pretend that’s _all_ you are.  I know better and I’m willing to bet Cas does too.  I don’t think he’d have forgiven you so easily if he didn’t.”  Dean starts to argue that they don’t actually _know_ that Cas has forgiven him, but Charlie cuts him off. 

“Think about it,” she argues, “He admitted to noticing that you’re at the gym during every one of his evening yoga classes.  In fact, he _noticed_ you enough that he managed to spot you taking his picture _from the corner of his eye,_ on the _other side of the gym._ ” 

Dean stares, frozen pizza slice hanging forgotten in his hand.  _Holy shit._ Charlie might be right.  Sure, it’s possible that Cas is just _that_ observant of a guy, but Charlie’s theory kindles a small flicker of hope in Dean’s chest.  As he gets ready for bed later that evening, he finds that he’s almost looking forward to utterly humiliating himself in yoga class tomorrow.

***


	3. Chapter 3

Castiel smiles when he sees Dean walk over to the yoga mats instead of the weight training equipment at five minutes to six, looking nervous, but determined. 

“Hello Dean,” he greets, “I’m glad you’re here.” 

Dean smiles and returns his greeting, then looks away nervously. 

Cas grins in amusement as he realizes that Dean is trying desperately not to stare at him.  Well that won’t do.  How is Dean supposed to copy his yoga poses if he can’t even bring himself to _look_ at Cas? 

Keeping his voice casual, Cas adds, “I thought it might be nice to see one another close up for a change, instead of from across the gym.”  It’s a subtle admission that Dean’s interest isn’t one-sided and Cas can see when Dean gets it.  His cheeks warm, but there’s a small smile on his face and Cas is dazzled.  Dean isn’t just sexy, he’s beautiful. 

Suddenly needing a little distance, Cas clears his throat and raises an eyebrow, “Plus, it’ll be easier to keep an eye on you over here.  Make sure you’re staying out of trouble.”  Castiel softens the teasing barb with a smile.  Dean’s blush grows as Cas starts to move toward the front of the class, but so does his smile. 

As he leads the class through the poses for a sun salutation, Castiel is careful not to stop by Dean’s mat any more than does anyone else’s.  However, unlike his other students, Cas makes a point of touching Dean every time.  It’s honestly not hard to find legitimate reasons to do so.  Dean’s form is _terrible_ , but Cas is impressed by his patience and persistence. 

The first time he touches Dean, placing one palm flat between Dean’s shoulder blades while bracing the man’s shoulder with the other to deepen his Forward Standing Bend, he whispers softly enough for only Dean to hear, “Is this okay?”

“Yeah. S’okay,” Dean whispers back hoarsely, color seeping into his cheeks.  Castiel smiles softly and let’s his hand linger on Dean’s back a half second longer than he usually would, before moving on to the next student.  A couple of minutes later, as he pulls Dean’s hips upward to increase the angle of his Downward Facing Dog, he’s pretty sure the flush that stretches across the back of Dean’s neck and down his shoulders isn’t just from physical exertion.  He’s not sure if it’s from embarrassment or arousal, but either way he takes a moment to thank any listening deity that Dean opted to wear a tank top today instead of his usual t-shirt.

And so it continues.  Castiel uses his hands to pull Dean’s shoulders back in his High Lunge, places two fingertips underneath Dean’s chin to tilt his head up in Cobra Pose (which earns him the sight of wide green eyes and parted lips surrounded by reddened, freckled skin), and presses a hand into the small of Dean’s back to accentuate the arch of his Upward Salute.  Castiel longs to crowd up behind Dean, running his hands up the Dean’s sides, then trailing his fingers over Dean’s ribs and tweaking his nipples as he kisses the back of the firefighter’s neck.  He takes a deep breath and steps away, before he can do just that.  Even though he knows how attractive he finds Dean ( **very** ), Castiel hadn’t expected to be quite _this_ affected by a few brief (and mostly professional) touches.  Dean is just so _responsive_.  He absolutely _melts_ into Castiel’s touch each and every time, his body pliable and willing beneath Cas’ hands.  For someone as naturally tactile as Castiel, whose vocation includes a burning desire to bring healing, comfort, and peace to others with his touch, the sensation is heady.  Castiel feels powerful and sensual (and more than a little aroused, if he’s being entirely honest).  Dean responds to Cas’ murmured praise when he finds the correct position just as beautifully as he does Castiel’s hands:  back straightening, head lifting, muscles relaxing.  He’s breathtaking. 

Things come to a head when Castiel guides Dean into their most complex pose of the evening, the Extended Side Angle Pose.  Dean has a difficult time getting into position, so Cas moves his body for him. He corrects the positioning of Dean’s feet first, then grips each of Dean’s wrists in turn to guide his arms to their correct positions, his right on the ground in front of his right foot, supporting his upper body, and the left held straight up above.  Finally, Castiel stands behind Dean, placing his left hand on Dean’s hip and his right on the back of Dean’s thigh.  He pulls gently back with his left hand while pushing forward with his right, slowly rotating Dean’s pelvis.  He hears Dean’s breath catch in his throat and looks down at him from his position above the man’s left shoulder.  Dean has his face turned skyward, and when he locks eyes with Castiel his pupils darken as he unconsciously licks his lips.  Castiel swallows thickly and with a parting squeeze to Dean’s hip, he retakes his position at the front of the class, where he remains for the entire cool down.  He’s not sure who he’s teasing more at this point, Dean or himself, but he is certain that neither of them can take much more.

***

 _Goddamn._ Dean releases a shaky breath as he finishes the last pose and bends to roll up his mat.  His limbs feel pleasantly loose and aside from a slight burn in his core that tells him he should really be using those muscles more than he does, he feels pretty good.. physically at least.  Mentally and emotionally, however, Dean is reeling.  So much for the centering affect of yoga, at least when Cas is around that is.  The man is a goddamn menace.  Dean’s just spent the past hour imagining every possible unsexy scenario he could think of to avoid popping a boner every time Cas put his sexy fucking hands on his body.  Cas’ hands positioning Dean’s pelvis on that last pose was so much like one of his numerous (oh so fucking numerous) fantasies that he had to picture Bobby making out with Mr. Crowley, the unpleasant British man who owned the dry cleaner’s next to Singer’s Gym, in order to kill his arousal (and thank God it worked.. actually getting hard while picturing Bobby and Crowley might have put Dean off sex for life). 

At least Cas had kept to his own side of the mats during the cool down stretches.  Dean had been moments away from tackling the handsome bastard when he saw the way Cas’ eyes focused on his lips as he looked down at Dean during that side-whatever-pose.  At the very least, Dean’s now confident that Charlie’s theory is at least halfway right:  Cas is definitely attracted to him.  After seeing the way Cas’ pupils dilated when Dean licked his lips, followed by that sudden retreat to the front of the class, Dean’s certain he wasn’t the only one who needed to cool more than just his yoga-worked muscles.  What Dean still hasn’t figured out is if Cas _likes_ him as well.  Dean’s had his fair share of one night stands with women, but he wants more than that with Cas.  His lizard brain is screaming at him to just take what he can fucking get and hope to God that’s Cas’ cock up his ass, but Dean’s a greedy bastard.  He wants _all_ of Cas.  He just wishes he knew what Cas wants from him.

The man in question walks over to Dean and asks, in voice far too fucking even to be anything but deliberate, “So Dean, what did you think of your first yoga class?” 

Dean’s too frustrated to be flustered, for once in his goddamn life, and he slips easily into his cocky firefighter persona, raising an eyebrow at Cas and replying, “I liked it.  Never knew yoga was so _interactive_ though.  Very _hands-on_.” 

Finally ( _fucking FINALLY)_ it’s Cas’ turn to blush and Dean feels like he has the upper hand in a conversation with Castiel for the first time ever.  That lasts for exactly three seconds, until Cas looks him dead in the eye and asks, “Would you like to go to dinner with me tomorrow evening?” 

Dean stares. 

Cas raises an eyebrow of his own and adds, “There’s a great burger place not far from here.  I work the early shift tomorrow,” he says as if he hasn’t already figured out that Dean’s a creepy stalker who’s memorized his entire schedule, “so I thought we could meet here afterward and head over.” 

Dean stares some more. 

When Dean still doesn’t answer (how do words work again?) Cas finally starts to look uncertain and begins to babble, “unless you don’t want to of course. Or, if burgers are too casual for a first date, we could go somewhere nicer..” he trails off, looking decidedly uncomfortable now and just no.

No, no, no, no!  Dean _cannot_ be the reason for _that_ look on Cas’ face.  Not twice in two days! 

“I like burgers,” he blurts stupidly.  Dean blushes (because obviously he hasn’t embarrassed himself enough for one lifetime), but really, who could blame him?  Cas has just spent the better part of an hour doing everything in his goddamn power to fry each and every one of Dean’s brain cells and clearly, he succeeded. 

Cas smirks as if he knows exactly what Dean’s thinking. 

Dean scowls. 

Cas’ smirk widens. 

Dean clears his throat, “Yes, Castiel.  I would like to get dinner with you tomorrow night.  Burgers sound great.”  Regaining some of his equilibrium, Dean tries for the confidence he swears he used to have, “Besides, burgers are underrated.  I can’t think of a single situation that can’t be improved by a good burger and a cold beer.” 

Dean’s quite proud of himself.  That sentence almost made sense. 

“Hmm,” says Castiel, “we’ll see about that.  I’m pretty sure I can think of a few.”  He gives Dean a pointed once over and starts backing away.  “I’ll see you tomorrow Dean.  You can pick me up at 6.” 

Dean nods and waves dumbly.  Castiel chuckles before turning around and jogging out of the gym. 

Dean shakes himself and heads for the locker rooms.  He should hurry.  After all, he has less than 24 hours to freak out about his first date with Cas.

***

When Castiel exits Healing Hands’ front doors at 6 o’clock the next evening, the sight that greets him stops him in his tracks.  Dean is parked in the very first space, directly opposite the entrance to Healing Hands.  He’s leaning against the hood of a sinfully _gorgeous_ black muscle car that Castiel instantly knows is going to join Dean in headlining his fantasies from now on. 

The sex-on-wheels that is Dean’s car is only surpassed by the man himself.  Dean has a layer of stubble on his normally clean-shaven face and his tousled hair is just begging to have Castiel’s fingers in it.  He’s wearing fitted blue jeans that hug his thighs like a second skin, a black t-shirt that does nothing to hide his muscled chest, and a black leather jacket that makes him look so goddamn cool Cas has to remind himself to breathe.  Realizing that he’s staring, open-mouthed, Cas forces his feet to start moving and makes his way across the parking lot to Dean. 

Dean, having obviously seen Castiel’s _moment_ , is smirking openly. 

Cas opens his mouth to greet Dean and pauses.  It’s 6 o’clock on a Saturday evening, a busy time of day for this complex.  How did Dean manage to get the parking spot with the best possible vantage point from Healing Hands? 

Instead of saying hello, he narrows his eyes at Dean and asks, “How early did you have to get here to procure this particular parking spot?” 

Dean bites his lip and looks down and ah, _there’s_ his bashful firefighter. 

Glancing up at Castiel through his eyelashes Dean answers, “It was worth it for that reaction.” 

Because he can (well, more because he _can’t not)_ , Castiel leans in and brushes a chaste kiss against Dean’s cheek. 

“Shall we?” he asks, moving to the passenger door. 

Grinning and, of course, blushing faintly (Castiel thinks red is his new favorite color), Dean opens the car door for Castiel, then jogs around the front of the car to slide into the driver’s seat.

Their date proceeds smoothly after that.  At the restaurant, Dean and Castiel chat amicably as they wait for their burgers.  Dean asks Cas where he and his co-owners got the idea for a gym/spa combo and Castiel tells him the story of his friendship with Meg and Pam and their inspiration for Healing Hands.  Castiel then segues into asking Dean why he chose to become a firefighter.  Apparently, when Dean was 4 and Sam was just a baby, their home caught fire.  Dean’s father got Dean and Sam out safely, then tried to go back in for their mother, but couldn’t get through the flames.  Dean held baby Sam and watched as the firefighters braved the blaze to rescue his mom, carrying her out of the burning house and saving her life.  Dean has spent his entire life wanting to be that person for someone else.  If Castiel weren’t already enamored with the man, that would have done it.

The conversation stills as their food arrives. Midway through the meal, Dean looks up at Castiel, “I’m sorry again for taking that picture.  It was a stupid thing to do, even though I’m not complaining about how it all turned out.” 

Castiel puts down his burger and sighs, “It’s okay Dean.  I’m sorry I assumed the worst when I saw you taking that picture.  You’ve never given me any reason to think anything less than the best of you and I reacted poorly.  I’m usually not so thin skinned, but the thought of _you_ behaving so cruelly toward me was.. upsetting.” 

Before Dean has a chance to respond to that, Can pushes on, “I’m also sorry I made you feel like you had to share something so personal with me in order to clear your name.  You took a fairly innocent picture of me in a public place.  I read a private conversation between you and your friend.  I hope you can forgive me for invading your privacy like that.”

“Like I said Cas, I’m not complaining,” Dean says, looking uncomfortable with the apology. 

Castiel shrugs, “Even so.” 

“Well, you’re forgiven then,” Dean responds. 

For a moment, Dean looks like he’s about to say more, then he stops.  Cas knows Dean is about to let him off the hook, but that’s not what he wants.  He really likes Dean and he doesn’t want this hanging over them.  Dean’s apology yesterday was sincere, heartfelt, and thorough.  He deserves the same from Castiel. 

“Dean,” Castiel begins seriously, “whatever it is you’re thinking, please say it.” 

Dean hesitates for a moment longer before speaking, “I get why you would be upset about what you thought I was doing with that picture, but why did you react that way in the first place?” 

Castiel tilts his head, “Why did I jump to that particular conclusion? Or why did I react so strongly to your involvement?”

“Uh, both I guess,” Dean responds. 

“Well, for the first, I may be happy with myself now, Dean, but I wasn’t always.  Children can be cruel and I had a difficult adolescence.  Occasionally those old insecurities catch up with me.  As for why I reacted the way I did to you,” Castiel looks down at his lap, “you weren’t the only one with a crush Dean.  The thought of anyone doing that to me would be hurtful.  The thought of _you_ doing it..” Castiel trails off. 

When Dean doesn’t say anything in response, he looks up to find the man smiling like the sunrise: slow, sure, and breathtaking.

“You sayin’ you like me Cas?”  Dean asks, raising his eyebrows in emphasis. 

Castiel rolls his eyes fondly. 

“I would have thought that obvious by now, but yes, Dean.  I like you.” 

Dean grins wider and pops a fry into his mouth, giving Cas and exaggerated eyebrow waggle. 

Castiel rolls his eyes again and picks up his burger.

Dean waits till they’ve finished their meals before he starts talking again, “Do you come across a lot of people like that?”

Confused by the non sequitur, Castiel looks at him quizzically and Dean clarifies, “People who ARE _that_ kind of dick, I mean.” 

Ah.  Castiel tilts his head from side-do-side, “Not usually that bad, but yes, far more often than I’d like.”

“Well that sucks,” Dean says bluntly and Castiel chuckles. 

“It does yes, but honestly, I prefer open disdain to the people who hide their prejudice behind false kindness.” 

Dean’s forehead scrunches in confusion.  It’s an adorable look on Dean, but then, Castiel thinks most looks are adorable on Dean.

“What do you mean?” 

Considering his words carefully, Castiel responds, “It’s usually in the form of a back handed compliment.  For example, they might squeeze my arm and say something like,” Castiel pitches his voice higher and affects a mock-comforting tone, “‘there’s nothing wrong with being a little fluffy.’” 

He grimaces, then continues, “They act like they’re reassuring me, but I’m perfectly comfortable with my size.  _They’re_ the ones who aren’t.” 

Dean frowns as he weighs Castiel’s words, looking as if he’s thinking about tracking down every person who’s ever insulted Castiel.  It’s unnecessary, but endearing nonetheless. 

Wanting to distract Dean from his unhappy thoughts, he adds grumpily, “I’m not ‘fluffy.’  Pomeranians are fluffy.” 

At this, Dean barks out a laugh and counters, “I don’t know Cas.  They’re bitey fuckers too.  You might have more in common with them than you think.” 

Cas looks at Dean evenly and drops his voice an octave, “Oh Dean.  You have _no_ idea.” 

Dean flushes brilliantly as he catches Cas’ meaning and oh, it is going to be a _long_ time before Castiel tires of putting _that_ look on Dean’s face.  Castiel has known how sexy Dean is for months.  He’s only now learning just how goddamn _cute_ the man can be.  He likes it. 

“You’re cute when you blush,” he tells Dean. 

Dean frowns, “M’not _cute._ ” He adopts a sing-song tone and repeats Castiel’s words, “Pomeranians are _cute_.” 

Castiel grins, “You’re cute when you pout too.” 

Dean glares at him in mock indignation and replies, “I. Am not. _Cute.”_

“Well, that’s unfortunate,” Castiel counters. 

“Why is that?” Dean asks suspiciously. 

Castiel shrugs nonchalantly, “I have a nearly irresistible urge to kiss you when you’re being cute is all.” 

Dean let’s this sink in for a moment before answering, “Maybe I’m a little cute, but in a totally tough and manly kinda way.” 

Castiel smiles and picks up Dean’s hand from where it’s resting on the table. 

“Like I said,” he pulls Dean’s hand towards him and places a kiss on the firefighter’s knuckles, “cute.”

***

Dean’s probably grinning like a sap right now, but he can’t help it.  So far their date has been fucking fantastic.  He’s relieved that they seem to be on the same page and neither are considering this a “one and done,” kinda deal.

Cas holds Dean’s hand as they leave the restaurant, tugging on it to turn Dean towards him before they step into the parking lot.  Dean’s about to ask if something’s wrong when Cas smiles softly and plants another kiss on his cheek before stepping off the sidewalk and pulling Dean along by their still-joined hands. 

Dean grins, “What was that for?  I wasn’t being cute.”

“You’re always cute.”

“Does that mean you _always_ want to kiss me?” Dean asks to cover his pleased embarrassment at the matter-of-fact comment.

“Yes,” Cas answers bluntly as he slides into the Impala’s passenger seat. 

Dean stares for a moment, then chuckles and climbs into the driver’s seat.  Cas alternates between carefully delivered inuendo and blunt, unadorned honesty so quickly it makes his head spin.  Dean kind of loves it.

As they pull onto the main road, Dean glances over to see Cas’ hand resting lightly on the passenger door.  For a moment, he wonders what those long fingers would look like wrapped around Baby’s steering wheel and isn’t _that_ a hell of a thought!  _No one_ drives Baby except for Dean, especially not anyone he’s ever dated.  Try as he might though, Dean can’t shake the thought of Cas’ hands on Baby’s wheel, guiding the car that feels more like home to Dean than any place he’s ever known with the same confidence and ease he’d shown guiding Dean’s body through yesterday’s yoga poses.  And _there’s_ another distracting thought, Cas’ hands on Dean’s body again: touching, guiding, caressing.  Dean’s arousal has been on a slow simmer since that goddamn yoga class, every dark look and casually dropped inuendo from Cas stoking the flames.  That fire had burned low during their date as the desire to get to know Cas better overtook Dean’s _other_ desires, but now it flares anew and _fuck!_ Dean _wants._

 _What does Cas want though?_ The man hasn’t exactly been subtle when dropping hints about the things he could and (oh God please!) _will_ do to Dean’s body, but talking about sex and wanting said sex to happen _right goddamn now_ are not the same thing, Dean knows.  Will Cas think he’s moving too fast?  Would making a move on Cas tonight bump Dean from potential-relationship-material back to creepy-asshole-stalker status?  Dean’s anxiety is building and he’d like to think that might put a damper on his erection, but no such luck.  Anxious and aroused is an uncomfortable sensation in a number of ways and Dean shifts in his seat, trying to get a little relief from at least one of his problems.

Noticing his fidgeting, Cas speaks, “Is something wrong, Dean?”

 _Shit._ Dean shoots Cas a tight-lipped smile across the bench seat.

“Nah,” he says and fuck it.  He’ll put the ball in Cas’ court and see what the man does with it.  “I’m just not ready for this date to end is all,” he says, giving Cas what he really hopes is a _significant_ _look_ and not a _constipated grimace._

Either he pulled off _significant_ or Cas thinks constipated is good look on Dean, because his voice is even lower than usual when he asks, “Would you like to spend the night with me, Dean?”

Dean shivers at the sound of his name in that gravelly voice and has to bite his tongue to keep from shouting, “YES PLEASE!” 

“Yeah, Cas,” Dean hears his own voice drop an octave, “I think I would.” 

The car grows quiet except for Cas’ murmured directions to his apartment.  Sundays are his day off from Healing Hands and Dean’s not on call this weekend, so they’ll stop by the gym sometime tomorrow to pick up Cas’ car.  Tomorrow.  Cas isn’t just taking Dean back to his apartment for sex.  He asked Dean to _spend the night_.  The thought sends a warmth through Dean that’s entirely different from the warmth currently growing in his belly, but he still can’t shake his earlier anxiety.  Filled with nervous energy, his leg begins to jiggle and he taps the steering wheel.

From the other side of the car, Cas levels that intense, laser-focused gaze of his on Dean, like he can read Dean’s thoughts with a glance and fuck, maybe he can.  He’s done a pretty damn good job of it so far.  Dean steals a look back at Cas from the corner of his eye.  Even in the orange glow of the streetlights he’s gorgeous.  In the dark of the car, the color of his red button up is still visible where his brown suede jacket falls open above dark blue jeans.  His hair looks as sex mussed as always and even though Dean knows he shaved for work this morning, this late in the evening a trace of stubble lines that strong jaw. 

As Dean’s tapping and jiggling continue and the silence in the car begins to feel more strained than comfortable, Cas decides to state the obvious, “You’re nervous.”

Dean huffs an incredulous laugh at that and shoots Cas a sideways glance, “Hey Cas, you ever _not_ say exactly what’s on your mind?”

“Not really, no.”  Cas hesitates, “Is that a problem?”

Dean smiles and shakes his head, “Not for me.  I like knowing what you’re thinking.”

Cas nods at this, then raises an eyebrow at Dean, indicating that he’s still expecting a response to his previous comment.

Dean sighs, “Yeah, okay.  I’m nervous, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want this,” he gestures between himself and Cas.

Cas looks skeptical.  “Dean, nothing has to happen tonight.  And _nothing_ that you don’t want to happen _will_ happen.” 

Dean rolls his eyes.  “Are you going to explain the differences between ‘good touch’ and ‘bad touch’ next?”

Cas shoots him an unimpressed look.

 _Shit._ Dean has to fix this.  He’s nervous because it’s his first time with a guy and he _really_ likes this particular guy, but he trusts Cas and he wants this so badly he almost taste it ( _it_ being every goddamn part of Cas’ body).  Naturally, they aren’t going to do anything if Cas isn’t fully on board, but if Dean has to go home with nothing more than a chaste goodnight kiss thanks to his own idiocy, his dick might cry.

“Okay look, I can be nervous about doing something new and still _really, really_ fucking want it.  I want you Cas, and I trust you.  Please trust me enough to believe me when I tell you that I fully and enthusiastically consent to whatever we decide to do tonight.”

Cas starts to interrupt, “But..” Dean talks over him.

“If anything starts to happen that I don’t want to consent to, or if I change my mind about doing something at any point, I will let you know.  I swear,” Dean fights the urge to add a “please” to the end of that sentence.  He’s feeling vulnerable enough right now without adding begging-for-sex to his list of things to feel insecure about.

“Okay,” Cas responds simply.

“Okay?”

“Okay.  My building’s right there,” Cas says, pointing to an apartment complex on the right. 

Dean pulls into the parking lot and parks where Cas directs him to.  As they head toward Cas’ building, Dean reaches down and laces their fingers together.  It’s the first physical contact Dean’s initiated tonight and Cas beams at him.  It might be a stupid thought, but Dean thinks that smile is brighter than the goddamn moon.  He squeezes Cas’ hand and returns the smile with a soft one of his own.  He’s still nervous, but he can do this.  With Cas, he can do anything.

***


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thar be smut ahead!
> 
> If you'd like to avoid it, just skip the section from Dean's POV. You won't lose any plot. It's about 2800 words of pure filth. 
> 
> Everyone else, please enjoy about 2800 words of pure filth!

Castiel answers Dean’s hand squeeze with one of his own.  Dean’s clearly still nervous, but he’s more relaxed now than he has been since they started their conversation in the car.  As Cas leads him up the stairs to his apartment, he recalls how Dean had melted into his touch during their shared yoga class yesterday and thinks he knows the perfect way to help Dean relax.

“Dean, have you ever had a massage?”

Dean trips.

Waiting for the firefighter to right himself, Cas suppresses a smile.  The last thing he wants is to make Dean _more_ self-conscious.

“Not, like, professionally or anything,” Dean mumbles.

“Hmm,” Castiel unlocks the door to his apartment and Dean follows him inside. “I’m not sure if it counts as ‘professional’ if we’re in my bedroom, but I would very much like to give you one if you’re comfortable with that.”

Dean clears his throat, but his voice is still husky when he answers, “Yeah.  Yeah, I’m comfortable with that.”

Pinning Dean with a knowing look and smirking at his answering blush, Cas sheds his coat and tosses it over the back of the sofa, with Dean following suit.  He grabs two bottles of water from the refrigerator before leading Dean to the bedroom.  Whether from the massage or _other_ activities, Dean will need the hydration. 

Castiel doesn’t give Dean a tour of his one bedroom apartment as they make their way down the short hallway.  That may be rude, but he doesn’t care.  Now that he’s this close to having what he’s been fantasizing about for months, he needs Dean naked and in his bed like he needs air.  The thought of Dean’s firm muscles pliant and yielding beneath his hands again, the thought of being able to touch him _everywhere_ this time, has Cas half hard in his jeans already. 

As they enter the bedroom, Cas pauses to pick up the lighter from the desk next to the doorway and uses it to light the three aromatherapy clustered on his nightstand.  As the light scent of sandalwood fills the room, he hears Dean huff a gentle laugh behind him and raises an inquisitive eyebrow at the man.

Dean grins.  “I knew I’d end up surrounded by scented candles when I joined that gym.”

“Are you complaining?”

“Nope,” Dean replies, with an exaggerated pop on the last sound, “definitely _not_ complaining about anything.”

“Good.  You can undress as far as you’re comfortable.”  That might come off as a little formal for what they’re about to do, but stepping into his professional persona is helping him restrain the urge to strip Dean bare and suck marks into every inch of naked skin.  With a force of will, Cas turns away to give Dean privacy as he undresses, walking to the bookshelf next to his desk and taking his time selecting a massage oil.

Dean chuckles.  “You can look at me you know.  I’m not gonna break Cas.”

Castiel can hear the eye roll even if can’t see it.  Well, if that’s how Dean wants to play it.. he can certainly work with that.  He turns to face Dean, reaching behind him and spinning his desk chair around as he goes.  Not breaking eye contact with Dean, Cas slowly sinks into the chair and gestures magnanimously with one hand as he leans back.

“My apologies.  Please. Continue.”

Dean’s adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, but he carefully toes off his socks and shoes, then reaches for the hem of his shirt.  Dean doesn’t tease.  He pulls the black fabric off in one smooth motion and lets it fall to the floor.  Castiel’s mouth waters as his eyes feast on thick shoulders, firm, rounded pecs, and chiseled abs, but he keeps his expression neutral.  Dean’s not fooled though, if the sexy smirk on his face is any indication.  He thumbs open the button on his jeans and meets Cas’ eyes as he lowers the zipper.  Cas feels his heartrate pick up and a warmth spreading across his cheeks as Dean pushes his jeans down to mid-thigh, revealing red boxer briefs (yes, red is _definitely_ his new favorite color) and heavily muscled thighs, before letting them drop and stepping out of them. 

As Castiel continues to stare, unmoving, at the impressive display of muscle and tanned skin before him, Dean suddenly looks nervous again, like he’s fighting the urge to squirm under Castiel’s eyes.  Oh, how Cas wants to see the normally cocky firefighter squirm for him, but now is **not** the time. 

“Yes, Dean?” he asks, keeping his eyes on Dean’s no matter how much they want to roam that naked expanse of skin.

“I think you’re a little over dressed for this party, Cas.”  Dean hesitates, then adds, “Not that _that’s_ not hot in its own way.”  Dean looks surprised at his own words, or maybe just surprised at the admission, and he blushes prettily.

Cas grins wickedly, “I’ll remember that,” he promises, “but I think for tonight, you make a valid point.”  With that, Castiel stands and slowly begins to unbutton his red shirt.  Dean swallows again as he watches Castiel strip down to his black cotton boxers.  Cas knows that Dean can see his burgeoning erection just as clearly as he can see Dean’s, straining against that soft red fabric.  He smirks.

“Face down on the bed, Dean.” 

Looking just a little shaky, Dean complies, shifting uncomfortably as his semi-filled erection presses against the mattress.  Cas snorts softly.

“Shaddup,” Dean pouts and Cas grins as the back on his neck turns red.  It shouldn’t be possible for a fully grown man who runs into burning buildings on a regular basis and is the closest thing this world knows to a goddamn superhero to also be _this_ adorable, but the evidence to the contrary is currently lying stretched out in his bed, waiting for Cas to touch him.

Cas pours some of the massage oil into his hand and rubs his hands together to warm it.  He starts by massaging Dean’s neck, then works his way down his shoulders to his back, digging his fingers into the trapezius muscles, then sliding his oiled hands downward in firm, smooth strokes.  He moves his hands over Dean’s teres muscles, the minor and major, down his latissimus dorsi, pressing deeply into the thoracolumbar fascia.  With each stroke, Castiel increases the pressure.  Dean groans and Cas feels his dick twitch in his boxers.  Between his dual professions of yoga instructor and massage therapist, Castiel knows the human body intimately.  He knows how to strengthen the core, increase flexibility, and coax knots out of over worked muscles.  But tonight, he’ll learn _Dean’s_ body intimately.  How the man likes to be touched, where he carries his tension, how much pressure he craves, and, soon, what brings him pleasure. 

Castiel wants to know all of it.  All of Dean.  He wants to know how to make the man moan, and scream, and even cry in ecstasy.  How to make Dean writhe beneath him in pleasure.  What combination of lips, tongue and suction on his cock will make Dean buck up into his mouth with abandon.  He wants to know how to reduce Dean to a panting, shaking mess as he opens him up with fingers or tongue.  Overwhelmed, Castiel wonders just how much he can learn about Dean’s body tonight.  He won’t be able to discover everything he wants to know, but that’s certainly no reason not to give it his best effort.  He wants to take this man apart.

Castiel longs to straddle Dean’s hips and let his hard, leaking cock press against the firm swell of Dean’s ass, but he holds back.  He’s still hesitant to push Dean too far, too fast and he doesn’t want to undo all the work they’ve done now that Dean is loose and pliant beneath him.  Instead, Castiel settles for placing one knee between Dean’s slightly spread legs while planting the other on the edge of the bed.  He pushes himself up and leans forward, using the leverage to press deeper into the muscles of Dean’s lower back.  Dean groans loudly and Cas smiles.

“Good?” he asks coyly.

“’S so good, Cas,” Dean slurs.

Castiel smiles and stills his hands.  If Dean relaxes any further, he’s likely to fall asleep and Castiel’s certain they’ll both be disappointed with that.  He glances down at Dean’s lower half.  Someday he’s going to massage every last inch of this gorgeous man, but for tonight he’ll have to be content with what he’s done on Dean’s upper body.  He does give one last, slightly sad, parting look to Dean’s ass though.  He wants his hands on that ass so badly, but he hasn’t even kissed Dean properly yet and there is a general order to these things.  Not that kissing Dean would be a consolation prize.  Cas wants that just as badly as he wants everything else with his firefighter.  He squeezes Dean’s shoulder.

“Turn over?”

Cas moves and seats himself on the side of the bed as Dean rolls over and looks up at him with soft green eyes.

“There you are,” Castiel murmurs, stroking the stubbled cheek.  “Better?”

“Yeah,” Dean whispers, his eyes dropping to Cas’ lips.

Unable and unwilling to ignore the unspoken request, Castiel leans down and _finally_ kisses Dean. 

***

Dean nearly moans again when he finally has Cas’ lips on his own.  This kiss is like the earlier cheek kisses Cas gave him in that they’re both technically kisses and both involve Cas’ lips, but that’s where the similarities end.  The kiss doesn’t start out slow and soft, the way most first kisses do.  Cas kisses him deeply and insistently, his lips pressing against Dean’s with the same firm pressure he used during the massage.  He nips at Dean’s bottom lip and Dean shudders with want.  He feels Cas’ lips tick up at one corner and realizes the smug bastard is actually managing to _smirk_ at him mid-fucking-kiss!  He’d object to that if he could manage to do anything beyond kissing Cas back and gripping the man’s biceps for dear life. 

The tip of Cas’ tongue swipes teasingly at Dean’s upper lip and Dean opens to it, eager to have pretty much any part of Cas inside him.  Cas wastes no time, invading Dean’s mouth like he’s Genghis-Fucking-Khan, set out to conquer the known world.  The man radiates confidence, no trace of hesitancy or uncertainty in the press of his lips or thrust of his tongue.  Cas is _good_ at this and he knows it.  It’s driving Dean fucking wild.  Dean’s erection had begun to wane as the touch of Cas’ hands during the massage felt more sensual than sexual, but it resurges now with a vengeance, the tribal villagers rallying to either fight Khan or join him, Dean’s not sure which.

Cas continues to own Dean’s mouth, each movement of lips, tongue, and teeth designed to bring Dean’s metaphorical village to its knees and delivered with devastating accuracy.  But he’s too controlled, too exact.  Dean has the sudden burning _need_ to break the man’s composure: to make cool, unflappable Cas crazy with want.. want for _Dean._ He also thinks that despite his promise in the car, Cas is still treating Dean with kid gloves.  He appreciates Cas’ concern, of course he does, but Dean’s tired of being treated like a startled horse. 

Tightening his grip on Cas’ arms, Dean hauls the other man on top of himself.  Cas goes willingly, straddling Dean’s hips and bringing their cloth-covered erections together for the first time.  Both men groan at the (fucking AMAZING) sensation and break the kiss.  Dean takes a moment to breathe, but Cas has apparently learned how to survive without oxygen, because he immediately dives for Dean’s neck, sucking kisses into the sensitive skin there.  Dean’s head falls weakly back against the pillow as Cas rocks his hips, bringing their cocks together again.  Dean keens with want, feeling his eyes roll back in his head.  Cas moans and moves his mouth from Dean’s neck down to his shoulders, sliding his own body down Dean’s as he goes. 

Dean almost whimpers at the loss of Cas’ cock against his, but as the man shifts downward, his stomach slides against Dean’s aching dick and _fuck_ if that doesn’t feel good too.  Cas attacks Dean’s shoulders and chest with the same single-minded efficiency he used when plundering Dean’s mouth (Genghis Kahn’s conquest spreads across the continent) and he adds teeth to his campaign, leaving Dean’s skin peppered with darkening marks. 

“So beautiful, Dean,” Cas murmurs as he eyes a mark appreciatively before moving to add one slightly to the left.  “So good, Dean.  So good for me.” 

Cas had barely spoken during the massage, but now he can’t seem to _stop_ talking, pressing praise and endearments into Dean’s flushed skin with every kiss.  Dean smiles, even as his face heats from the praise.  This is it:  Cas finally losing his cool, babbling and desperate.

Desperate or not, Dean’s reaction to the praise doesn’t go unnoticed by Cas (because fucking _nothing_ goes unnoticed by Cas) and the man redoubles his efforts. 

“God, Dean,” Cas sucks a kiss into the tender skin of Dean’s stomach.  “The things you do to me.”

“You’re so perfect for me Dean.” Another kiss.

“The way you melt under my hands.  So good.  So responsive.”  Cas traces the lines of Dean’s abs with his tongue.

“The noises you make when I do this,” Cas rocks in place and Dean keens at the pressure on his leaking erection, trapped against Cas’ chest.

“Cas,” Dean whines, “Need, need more,” he gasps, breathless, his hands scrabbling helplessly at Cas’ shoulders.

“Shh,” Cas soothes, “I’ve got you sweetheart.  I’ve got you.”

Dean nearly lets out a sob at the endearment, but he manages to hold it back at the last second.

Cas finishes his slow descent down Dean’s body and trails his fingers lightly against the waistband of Dean’s boxer briefs. 

“May I?”

“You fucking better!” Dean chokes out brokenly.

Cas chuckles darkly and hooks his fingers around Dean’s waistband before slowly sliding the underwear, damp with Dean’s precome, down his thighs.  Cas moves slowly, watching Dean’s weeping, swollen cock appear an inch at a time in apparent fascination.  Finally freed, Dean’s dick smacks against his stomach, covered in Cas’ marks, and Dean groans in relief.  Cas leaves his place between Dean’s thighs for a moment to finish removing the boxer-briefs, then hesitates and removes his own underwear as well, apparently remembering his promise to be as equally unclothed as Dean. 

Cas’ dick stands proudly to attention.  He’s average length, but his cock is thick and slightly curved, the head swollen and purple.  Dean can see a bead of precome glistening at the tip and he unconsciously licks his lips. 

“Later,” Cas chuckles, before reclaiming his position between Dean’s legs, gently grasping his thighs and spreading them farther apart before settling in.  Dean blushes at the intimacy in the gesture, then almost forgets to breathe as he looks down to see Cas’ wild hair, lust blown eyes, and (most importantly), slightly chapped pink lips inches from his cock.  Knowing that Dean can’t take much more teasing, Cas places a single kiss on the side of Dean’s shaft, then with no warning at all, takes him down to the root.

Dean comes off the bed with a shout and Cas pops off his cock, choking back laughter.

“Problem?” he asks with dancing eyes.

Dean glares at him weakly, chest heaving.  Cas presses a hand against Dean’s flat stomach, urging him to lie back down.  Dean obeys, his eyes never leaving the man lying between his legs.

Cas wraps his lips around Dean’s cock, slower this time, and begins to bob his head up and down.  He runs his tongue around Dean’s shaft as he moves, increasing the suction with every pull until it feels like he’s trying to Hoover Dean’s brains out through his dick.  Every few bobs, Cas pulls back far enough to swirl his tongue around the head, earning a wrecked gasp from Dean each time.  As Cas continues to take Dean apart with his mouth, he reaches forward with his left hand to fondle Dean’s balls.  Dean moans at the contact and Cas rewards him with a hum that sends a jolt of pleasure up Dean’s cock. 

Propping himself up on his forearms Cas brings his right hand forward and reaches behind Dean’s balls, pressing his thumb against Dean’s perineum.  Dean moans again and Cas trails his thumb down, stopping just before he reaches Dean’s pucker.

“Dean,” Cas asks in a cock-wrecked voice, “Can I touch you here?”

Overwhelmed, Dean whimpers and nods eagerly, throwing one forearm across his face. 

Cas takes a moment to reposition them so he can gain better access to Dean’s hole.  He leaves the bed briefly to fish a bottle of lube out of his nightstand drawer.  Confused, Dean looks between the lube and the previously abandoned bottle of massage oil at the foot of the bed.

Seeing his look, Cas explains, “Water-based lubricant makes for easier clean-up.”  He resumes his position and lifts Dean’s left leg over his shoulder, then props himself up on his left forearm.  Dean bends his knees and plants both feet on the bed, giving Cas space to move.  The last thing he wants to do is restrict the movement of that ungodly talented mouth.  Cas places a small amount of lube on the fingers of his right hand and rubs them together to warm it.  He traces slow circles around Dean’s pucker before firmly swiping across it with his thumb, earning a full body shudder for his efforts.

Smirking, Cas takes Dean back into his mouth, resuming what is undoubtedly the best blow job of Dean’s life, while continuing to stroke and rub Dean’s opening, slowly increasing the pressure against Dean’s rim.  Dean struggles to remain still, but the dual sensations of Cas’ mouth on his cock and his fingers against Deans hole have him squirming and fighting not to buck up into the wet heat above him.  Dean reaches one hand down and grips Cas hair, for the sole reason that if he doesn’t hold onto _something_ , he thinks he might fly apart.  Cas hums his approval before sliding off until he has only Dean’s head in his mouth and sucking, _hard_.  With a strangled cry, Dean uses the hand gripping Cas’ hair to pull him off his dick while clamping his other hand around the base. 

“Dean?” Cas asks hoarsely and oh God, that’s hot!

“Close Cas.  So fuckin’ close.”  Dean heaves, trying to catch his breath.

“Do you want to come, Dean?” Cas asks in his sex-ravaged voice.  “Do you want to come for me?”

Dean almost comes right then, but frantically shakes his head.

“Not yet,” he gasps. “Want more, Cas.  Want you.”

“Dean,” Cas swallows, “Are you sure?”

“Fuck yeah, I’m sure Cas.  Please, baby. Fuckin’ need you,” Dean babbles helplessly.

Cas soothes him with a kiss to his inner thigh and settles back in, pouring more lube on his fingers.  He leaves Dean’s cock alone this time, but resumes his ministrations to Dean’s hole.

“Has anyone ever touched you here, Dean?”  Cas asks seductively.

“Just, just me,” Dean stutters, “Never gone further with a guy than some kissing and over the clothes stuff.”

Cas’ nostrils flare at the admission and he looks downright _feral_.

“What about the women you’ve been with?”

“Most women don’t wanna do that to a guy ya know?  I’ve been with some who might’ve, but I never knew how to ask.”

“Mmm.  That’s okay Dean,” Cas punctuates his words with another kiss to Dean’s thigh.  “I wouldn’t care if you’d been touched like this by hundreds of people, but the thought that it’s just me, that I’m the first one to see you this way, the first to be able to do this for you.. Dean, you have no idea.”  Cas sounds breathless now.  He slowly dips a finger into Dean’s hole, pressing into the first knuckle before easing out slightly and pressing in again.  Dean gasps at the initial intrusion, but relaxes back against the bed as Cas sucks gentle kisses into the meat of his thigh. 

“Tell me, Dean,” Cas says as he steadily works his finger deeper into Dean, “when you do this to yourself, how do you do it? Do you use your fingers?  Or a toy?”  Cas punctuates each question with a thrust of his finger.

Panting, Dean stutters, “B-both.”

Cas groans brokenly, “Christ, Dean.  So good.  That’s so good sweetheart.  When you finger yourself, how many do you take?” 

“Three,” Dean pants out and Cas rewards him by adding a second finger on his next thrust. 

Dean keens again and arches his back as Cas begins to scissor his fingers.

“Fuck sweetheart.  So responsive.  Tell me about your toy.  What is it?”  Cas is panting too now, just seeing how worked up Dean is clearly wrecking the man.  Dean never thought he could feel so powerful with someone else’s fingers up his ass.

“It’s a dildo.  I’ve always wanted to try bottoming and I wanted to have some idea what it felt like when the time came, you know?”  Dean can’t believe he’s telling Cas all of this.  Normally, he’d be mortified at the mere thought of telling someone else about fucking himself with a rubber cock, but Cas looks so utterly enthralled that Dean couldn’t feel ashamed if he tried.

“I’ll try to measure up,” Cas chuckles hoarsely, then continues, voice rough, “I bet you look so good like that sweetheart, fucking yourself on that fake cock.” Cas is up to three fingers now, pumping them in and out of Dean’s hole in time with his filthy fucking monologue.

“Filling yourself up.”  _Thrust._

“Taking is so good.”  _Thrust._

“Wishing it was the real thing.” _Thrust._

On the next thrust, Cas angles his fingers and rubs against Dean’s prostate.  Electric pleasure arcs up Dean’s spine and he cries out, “Fuck! Cas!”

“That’s right Dean.  Tell me, these past few months while you were watching me at the gym, did you ever pretend your dildo was me, Dean?  Did you imagine it was my cock filling you up? Fucking you?”  Cas’ breathing is ragged now and he’s nailing Dean’s prostate on every other thrust.

“Yes, Cas!” Dean sobs, “Thought about you all the time.  Wanted it to be you.  Wanted your cock in me so bad.  Wanted you to fucking _wreck_ me Cas!”  Dean babbles, nearly incoherent with _need_ and _want_ , his poor, neglected cock angry and weeping against his stomach.

“Oh, fuck, Dean!”  Cas praises.  “I thought about you too, do you know that?  Imagined doing this to you, taking you apart with my mouth, fucking you into my mattress until you can’t remember your own goddamn name.”  Cas presses on, filthy and fucking perfect, “Imagined you on your knees, taking my cock down your throat, begging me to fill you up.”

“Cas, Baby, _please_!” Dean begs now, thrusting down and fucking himself on Cas’ long fingers, “I want that.  Want all of it.  Jesus Cas, fuck me already!”

Cas slows the pace of his fingers before withdrawing them slowly and wiping them on the comforter.

“Can you reach the condoms in the nightstand?” he asks Dean.

Dean reaches blindly into the open drawer of the night stand, groping around until his hand closes on the box of condoms.  He practically throws them at Cas, who laughs weakly and withdraws one with a slightly shaking hand.  Cas rolls the condom onto his equally neglected cock with a hiss.  He coats his shaft with more lube, then quirks an eyebrow at Dean, who knows he already looks fucking wrecked and Cas hasn’t even started fucking him yet.

“Still nervous?” Cas teases.  Dean reaches for the pillow on the far side of Cas’ queen-sized bed and smacks Cas in the face with it.  Cas laughs again and tucks the pillow underneath Dean’s hips.  He loops his arms underneath Dean’s knees and pulls, manhandling Dean into position against him.  Dean’s dick twitches interestedly at the rough treatment and Cas smirks.  He lines up and Dean feels the press of Cas’ thick cockhead against his hole.  Cas presses in slowly.  Dean moans at the pressure against his sensitive rim, then feels it give way suddenly as Cas sinks inside.  Groaning loudly, Cas presses forward slowly but steadily until he bottoms out, hips flush against Dean’s ass.  He releases Deans legs and leans over top of him, pausing for a moment to give them both time to adjust.

Dean’s just about to open his mouth and beg Cas to move, when the man pulls out most of the way, then snaps his hips forward, jolting a surprised shout out of Dean.  After that, Cas sets a punishing pace, both of them having been on edge far too long for slow and sensuous love-making.  After several minutes of fucking Dean into the mattress as promised, Cas stops and straightens.  He tucks his hands back under Dean’s knees and heaves them up, bending them up against Dean’s chest and holding them there as starts pounding into Dean again.  The new angle has Cas nailing Dean’s prostate on every thrust and Dean wails.

“Fuck Cas!  There!  Right there Baby! So good. _Shit._ So good!”  Dean keeps up a string of mumbled praise and profanity and Cas fucking destroys him in the best possible way.  This position has Dean’s cock rubbing against his stomach, the friction pushing him closer to the edge, but not quite enough to push him over.

“Dean,” Cas moans, “Fuck!  You feel so good.  I’m close, Dean. Touch yourself for me Sweetheart.  Come for me.”

Dean reaches one hand between his bent knees and takes his cock in hand.  It’s an awkward angle, but Dean’s so on edge it doesn’t matter.  Half a dozen strokes and he’s coming with a shout, Cas following soon after.

***

Castiel falls to the side, landing on the bed next to Dean in graceless heap, his jelly-like muscles refusing to support him.  Dean chuckles and they lie there in silence for a moment, basking in the afterglow of what was inarguably some of the best sex of Cas’ life. 

After a few minutes, Cas ties off the condom and tosses it in the direction of the trash can.  Reaching over Dean, he retrieves a couple of tissues and the bottled water from the nightstand.  He gently wipes the come off Dean’s stomach with the tissues, which then join the condom, and hands Dean one of the bottles. 

At Dean’s questioning eyebrow, Cas shrugs, “Hydration is very important following a massage.”

Dean barks a laugh and Cas grins, collapsing back against the headboard and opening his own bottle.

“That was one hell of a massage.  Is it like that with all your clients?”

Castiel nods seriously, “I’m very thorough.”

“Asshole,” Dean laughs again and shakes his head.

“Hmm, you seem to have enjoyed yourself.  Do you think _that_ situation could have been improved by a burger and a beer, Dean?” Cas teases.

“Oh, fuck you,” Dean answers with a broad smile and fond eye roll as Castiel shakes with silent laughter, pressing his face into Dean’s shoulder.

Cas slides his arms around the firefighter’s waste and places a gentle kiss against the man’s shoulder.  Dean turns and kisses him slow and deep, filled with a sleepy contentment.  They spend a few minutes trading lazy kisses, until Dean pulls back with a grin.

“So.  How long before we can do that again?”

Cas Chuckles, “I would say in the morning, but I think you’re going to find that you’re a little too sore.”

Dean sticks his lip out in a pout that Cas finds adorable as always.  He kisses it off Dean’s face.

“But,” he continues, “we could always trade blow jobs in the shower.”

“Deal,” Dean responds immediately.  Dean’s phone buzzes from the floor and Cas looks at Dean, curious about who’s texting him this close to midnight.

“It’s probably Charlie,” Dean explains, “Checking to see how my date went.”

Cas smiles and lays sideways across Dean’s legs, reaching down to fish the phone out of his discarded blue jeans.  He swipes open the camera app and sits next to Dean, lacing their fingers together on the bed between them. 

“Well,” he says, snapping a picture of their joined hands before passing the phone to Dean, “You could always just send her a picture.”

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's it! Thanks again for reading my first fic and I really hope to hear from you in the comments!
> 
> New Author's Note:
> 
> If you'd like to reblog this fic, the Tumblr post is here:  <https://a-mandala-rose.tumblr.com/post/184179345614/healinghands>
> 
> You can show my lonely Tumblr some love here:  <https://www.tumblr.com/blog/a-mandala-rose>
> 
> Thanks again!


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